Road apples for the teacher? That’s what I briefly thought when I came to school the other day. This is a picture of what I saw on my desk.
What is it? I thought, as I approached my desk. At closer look, though, I saw it was not road apples at all, but tape balls. My sweet seventh graders peeled the old tape off my floor. It had been there since October, when we turned our linoleum floor into a makeshift cargo hold of a slave ship to experience the small space each person was allowed on board.
The tape needed to come off, and when I was called away from my class unexpectedly, the students talked the sub into letting them finish the job!